


Not Meant to Be

by masked



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Gadreel Possessing Sam Winchester, Gen, Season/Series 09, Time Travel, looming in the background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-06 19:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16839319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masked/pseuds/masked
Summary: Based on the prompt "present Sam gets sent back to season one and meets himself and Dean". Present Sam is from somewhere before 9x08 and past Dean and Sam are some time before 1x10.





	Not Meant to Be

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Dec 1, 2013 [here](http://hamburgergod.tumblr.com/post/68591390164/oh-my-goodness-this-prompt-took-me-so-much-longer).

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea to go after yet _another_ god.

The last thing Sam heard before a giant gate showed up behind him and swallowed him whole was Dean yelling his name. He opened his eyes with a grunt and blinked at the night sky, the stars blinking back at him.

He scrunched up his face at the drumming pain in his head. He flexed his fingers and curled up his toes to assess if anything was broken as he gingerly sat up. He was so sure he landed on his wrist and _heard_ the bone snapping, but it seemed fine as he flexed it about.

Huh. Well, he’d rather no broken wrist stranded in the middle of who knows where rather than with a broken wrist, so he thanked the happy little coincidence.

“Dean?” he called out carefully as he stood up, his eyes roaming around the area. The panic that Sam was forcing down was starting to creep up his throat, buzzing underneath his skin as he recalled the time he woke up unconscious in the middle of nowhere.

Sam took a deep breath and clenched his fists to keep himself grounded. No; Azazel was dead and that was almost 10 years ago. They stopped the Apocalypse and that was all over with. He needed to concentrate on the now.

He took his phone out and reached around for a signal, but it proved to be useless pretty quickly. This place was familiar for some reason but he couldn’t pinpoint on why. Thankfully, he saw a bright neon sign for a motel to his left not too far away. Civilization.

He started walking.

* * *

He stared at the black 1967 Impala parked right outside of the motel.

Relief flooded in. He wasn’t sure how in the hell Dean managed to find him, or how he even got away from Janus, but Dean seemed to be able to work miracles these days and he was just thankful to be seeing the familiar car again. 

Sam started making his way to the front desk to ask for Dean’s current pseudo name when he spotted two men walking towards the motel.

That-

 _That wasn’t possible_.

Instinctively, he hid behind one of the columns that held up the motel. Sam watched, unable to comprehend the two men’s existence. He could barely make out what they were saying, but that was- That couldn’t be-

The tall man shoved the shorter man by the shoulder. He heard the exchange too clearly.

“Jerk,” the taller man muttered.

“Bitch,” the other man replied fondly.

Sam’s head stopped functioning for a full second before he shook himself out of it. He picked his jaw up from the ground and followed them as they made their way into the nearby alley.

Oh god, he _knew_ this dance thoroughly. This was how they handled it when they knew they were being watched and followed-

Not surprisingly, the two men were gone just as Sam walked around the corner, the alleyway revealing nothing but a bare road. He barely had the time to heave a sigh in frustration before he was slammed into the wall next to him with a knife to his throat.

“Why are you following us?” the young **Dean** interrogated. Sam almost doubted it was him from the voice alone. _Jesus christ, he was younger than Sam_.

He side-eyed himself, so young and trying to be menacing. Is that what he really looked like before? God, he was babyfaced.

“Hey!” **Dean** yelled, pressing the blade closer to Sam’s throat. “Pay attention! _Why are you following-”_

“Alright, okay, calm down,” Sam said frantically, more to himself than to **Dean** as the final piece of the puzzle was slotted in and he understood what must’ve happened. “What year is it?”

 **Dean** and **Sam** glanced at each other at the strange question. “What?”

“Year. What year is it?” Sam asked, the impatience leaking through his voice.

“2005,” younger **Sam** drawled out, probably wondering if Sam was dropped on the head as a baby.

“2005. _Two thousand_ -” Sam stopped himself and shut his eyes close. Freaking gods and their freaky-ass powers. “This is going to sound crazy,” he mumbled.

He would say he _was_ crazy if his definition of crazy didn’t involve him hallucinating Lucifer obnoxiously reciting the Declaration of Independence while banging on a tin can with every stress of a word.

 **Dean** scoffed. “Believe me, there aren’t exactly a whole lot of normal in our lives.”

“No, I know, trust me.” Sam cleared his throat. “We need to talk. Privately.”

* * *

**Dean** paced around the room restlessly while **Sam** sat on the edge of the bed, gun still in hand. Sam bandaged the cut they made on his forearm with a silver knife.

“Okay, we’re in private. Start talking,” **Dean** said, scrubbing his face with his hand.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. “Right.” _Where to start?_ “Just hear me out, alright?”

 **Dean** and **Sam** waited. Sam eyed them both, took one deep breath and let it out as a sharp exhale. “I’m Sam Winchester. From the year 2013.”

The words hung heavily in the air, and nobody spoke for a beat.

“Uh.” **Sam** frowned.

“Excuse me?” **Dean** asked.

“I know it sounds impossible.” Sam said carefully. “But I think we’ve been through enough weird stuff to get that this kind of stuff just tends to happen to us.”

“And how do we know you’re actually telling the truth here?”

“Uh. Well. How do I prove I’m… me?”

 **Sam** crossed his arms. “Tell me something only I would know.”

Sam snorted. “Uh, okay.” Sam searched through his memories. “Flagstaff? We ran away for 2 weeks and got ourselves a dog and named him Bones. It’s one of the happiest memories we have.”

 **Sam** stiffened in surprise while **Dean** processed the information with a frown. “Flagstaff?” he echoed. “Flagstaff, Arizona?”

“Uh.” _Crap_. Sam cleared his throat, already knowing what to expect from his experience in Heaven. “Look, **Dean** -”

“ _That’s_ one of your happiest memory?”

 **Sam** seemed taken back at **Dean’s** sudden venom in his tone. “Uh, yeah?”

Sam watched as **Dean’s** face twisted in disbelief. “You don’t remember, do you?”

 **Sam** frowned in confusion.

“You ran away on _my_ watch.” **Dean** ground out. “And when dad came back-” he let out a humourless laugh, ripped out of his chest.

 **Sam** seemed stricken with guilt as soon as he realized what **Dean** was referring to. Sam wondered if he looked the same. “ **Dean** -” Sam started but **Dean** glared at him.

“Nevermind,” he replied in a clipped tone. “Let’s just get on with this. How the hell did this happen? Why’d you travel all the way back here?”

“We were hunting a Roman god, Janus.” Sam explained. “He’s the god of beginnings and transitions. Uh, he opened up this huge gate and shoved me in and I guess… I was brought back? Though I don’t know _why_ he chose 2005.”

 **Sam’s** eyes widened in shock. “I’m still hunting in 2013?”

Sam winced. “It sort of happened.” He averted his eyes to **Dean** , who had an intense frown of concentration, eyes roaming up and down Sam.

Sam blinked in confusion. “What?”

 **Dean** raised his eyebrows in surprise at the confrontation but quickly recovered. “No, nothing. I see you still have the stupid hair going on in 2013,” he said, gesturing at his hair.

Sam and **Sam** both scowled at him. **Dean** held his hands up. “Jesus, don’t do that. I’m not sure if the world is ready for a simultaneous bitchface.”

“Shut up,” Sam said without much threat. “I’m older than you.”

Dean seemed genuinely taken back by the statement for a second before he scrunched his face up. “Only because you’re cheating, bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam automatically replied without much thought. **Dean** seemed satisfied at the results but Sam was hit with a wave of nostalgia. They used to lightly insult each other all the time, but how long had it been since they’ve last called each other names?

While he sat through this new revelation, **Sam** stared at him, half-awe and half-disbelief. “You’re really me from the future,” he stated, the situation finally dawning on him.

Sam looked back at his younger self. Literally. “Yeah, I am.”

Sam couldn’t help but notice **Dean** shifting on his feet, brooding in the corner by himself. “Seriously **Dean** , what?” he asked, irritated. Dean never saying what was bugging him until Sam dragged it out of him was a trait that never changed over the years.

 **Dean** scowled. “Nothing. Jesus, you’re annoying even in the future.”

Sam waited patiently with his hands folded on his laps. He stared until **Dean** rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. “I’m just curious.”

“About what?”

 **Dean** scratched his neck. “Uh, you know. How did I… How did I bite the dust?” he asked with a nervous laugh.

Sam almost asked _which time?_ but refrained at the last minute. He shook his head. “ **Dean** , you’re not dead.”

 **Dean’s** face softened instantly. “Oh,” he let out quietly, shuffling on his feet. “I mean, I just figured, since I’m not with you right now and I don’t know, I didn’t think I’d survive past 30. So where’s my future self?”

Sam bit his tongue at **Dean’s** commentary and ignored the little eye twitch he seemed to have developed whenever **Dean** talked about himself that way. “Hopefully, still in the future. I think I was the only one Janus sent back.”

“Huh, cool. I mean, it’s not cool that you’re here but-” **Dean** waved it aside. “You know what I mean. Anyway, how’s dad doing in the future?”

Sam’s brain came to a halt at the question. **Sam** let out a humourless snort. “If he ever decided to show up.”

Dean rolled his eyes with a sigh. “ **Sam**.”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything that’s not true,” **Sam** bit back.

“Why do you always gotta be like this, man?” **Dean** snarled.

Sam sat very still where he was, half paying attention to the familiar banter occurring in front of him. Admittedly, he hadn’t thought about John for some time, what with the angels falling and Crowley living in their basement and Abaddon in general, not to mention a little voice nabbing at the back of his mind stating and reminding him that something was off about him. Not that there was ever a time when something _wasn’t_ off about him. It _had_ been 9 years. Regardless, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for the thought of John escaping his mind.

He blinked at the hand that waved in front of him. “Hey, man. You alright?” **Dean** asked worriedly.

Sam shook his head with a deep exhale. “Yeah, fine. I’m just…” he trailed off as he stared at **Dean** and **Sam** in front of him.

 _Why didn’t he realize this before?_ He was in his _own_ _past_. This was before everything had happened.

Maybe they never have to happen.

Sam’s heart raced at the possibilities. All the mistakes he’d made before, all of the deaths that happened because of them, he had the chance to _fix_ that. He could avert the Apocalypse and John would still be alive in the future.

He couldn’t prevent anything the last time he’d time travelled, but those also involved angels. He was in his own past because of something else entirely, and maybe, just _maybe_ -

“ **Dean** , and uh, **me** , listen to me carefully,” Sam said in a hushed voice.

They blinked at the sudden change in tone, but sat down on the bed anyways, ready to listen.

“Dad is…” Sam started, a little lump formed behind his throat. “He’s been gone for some time.”

 **Sam** snorted. “Of course.”

“No, not like that.” Sam shook his head slightly, and eyed **Dean** as understanding bloomed on his young face.

 **Sam’s** eyes widened soon after. He stared numbly at Sam. “Are we… Were we there?” he asked.

Sam shut his eyes, remembering back to the day at the hospital. “I was the one who found him.”

“You let him die _alone_?” **Dean** asked with a burst of anger.

“I wasn’t _expecting_ it,” Sam gritted out with a snarl. “He wasn’t supposed to die, **Dean**.”

“We’re always expected to die in this job, and you know that,” he replied with equal heat. “Death is always around the corner for us.”

Sam would laugh at the irony of that statement if he had the energy to. “Death is a lot nicer than some of the things we’ve met, trust me,” he mumbled, rubbing his forehead.

 **Sam** stared at Sam incredulously. “What?”

“Nothing.” Sam waved it aside hastily. "Listen to me. There’s going to be a day when dad is going to contact you and he’ll want to go after Azazel.“

 **Dean** frowned. "Who?”

Sam stuttered. “Right, uh. The yellow-eyed demon.”

They both tensed at the words. **Sam** straightened and clenched his fists, his eyes already burning with hatred at the mention of Azazel. “Azazel, that’s his name?”

Sam nodded. “You’re going to find him. At Salvation, Iowa. Not now, but later. This demon named Meg is going to kill Pastor Jim and Kalub. It’s going to ask us for a gun called the Colt in exchange for letting everyone we’ve ever helped live.”

“The Colt? What’s so special about this gun?” **Sam** frowned.

“It can kill anything in the world.”

“Including Azazel,” **Dean** finished the thought.

Sam nodded again. “I think that’s what dad is tracking down right now. I’m not really sure when he found out about the gun and when he started hunting for it.” He shook his head. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that when Meg asks you for the Colt, dad’s going to come up with a plan.”

 **Dean** smiled. “Course he does.”

“No, you don’t get it.” Sam stressed. “You _can’t_ let him follow through with that plan. He’s going to lose and be possessed by Azazel and that’ll be the start of everything.”

“Start of what?” **Sam** asked.

Sam sighed. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

**Dean** rubbed his face with his hand pacing back and forth, and **Sam** stayed frozen on the edge of the bed.

“So you’re telling me we’ve actually been- been _bred_ for this Apocalypse-inducing war between Heaven and Hell?” **Dean** questioned, the panic shaking through his voice. “So, **Sam’s** got demon blood in him, we die not once, but a _bunch of times_ , we literally go through Heaven and Hell and _Purgatory_ and I’m best friends with an _angel_ and- and a _vampire?”_

“Well, when you put it that way.” Sam shrugged.

 **Dean** let out a humourless laugh. “Yeah well man, you can be all calm about it because you’ve already gone through all this but us-” **Dean** slumped down onto the bed next to **Sam**. “ _Christ_.”

“No, but see, you don’t _have_ to go through it all. You know what to expect.” Sam spread his arms around. “Hell, I never expected to say this but our lives were _simpler_ back then. Back now. No freaking angels, no mother of all, no leviathans or _anything_. Occasional vampires and wendigos here and there but I mean-” Sam ruffled his hair. “Nothing on a bigger scale, you know?”

“Vampires are real?” **Dean** echoed with disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.” Sam heaved a sigh. “Trust me, a lot of things are real.”

 **Dean** clenched his jaw shut and abruptly stormed out of the room, clearly distressed about the whole thing. Sam flinched at the loud sound of the door slamming behind **Dean** and sat beside **Sam,** who was still in shock.

Sam twiddled his thumb, already somewhat wishing Dean was back in the room. This wasn’t the first time he’d met himself, but that was usually inside of his head.

Sam eyed **Sam** and cleared his throat. “So.”

“So,” **Sam** replied weakly. “I’m still hunting in the future.”

“Yeah.” Sam snorted. “Sorry about that.”

 **Sam** clenched and unclenched his fist, watching his knuckles turn white. “We’re Lucifer’s vessel?” he asked, almost inaudible.

“Uh, yeah, yeah we are.”

“God.” **Sam** chuckled humourlessly. “I guess there was no point of us trying to be normal in the first place. We’re just a bunch of freaks.”

“Yeah, guess so,” Sam murmured. “I mean, I tried, but things… never really worked out. But that’s exactly my point.” He turned to **Sam** , who stared at him unenthusiastically. “This could be a second chance for us. I screwed up but you don’t have to, you know?”

 **Sam** nodded. “You know we might never meet those people you know if we succeed in changing the future.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam mumbled quietly.

“And Dean with friends?” **Sam** raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t believe you if you weren’t me. Hell.” **Sam** laughed. “I’m still having a hard time believing it.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, well, they’re pretty attached by the hips. Oh, save yourself some trouble. Find this guy named Chuck Shurley and never let him write anything, _ever_. His pseudo is Carver Edlund.”

“Why?”

Sam shook his head. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

“Uh, okay?” **Sam** heaved. A moment passed between them before **Sam** spoke. “We’re not mentioning the main question here," he said quietly.

Sam gulped. It was eerie, the way he knew exactly what he was thinking. Himself or not, it was odd. “I’m from the future, but I don’t have any memories of this from my past.”

 **Sam** nodded. “How are you getting back to your own timeline?”

“I know a time travelling spell, so the only tricky part is to gather up the ingredients,” Sam replied.

 **Sam** laughed. “Do we do this often? Time travel?”

Sam snorted. “More often than most.”

 **Sam** hummed. “Have you created an alternate universe by helping us alter our future? Are you going to cease to exist?”

“Maybe something happens to you, the past me, after I go back to my own timeline,” Sam speculated.

“Do you have any idea what it could be?” **Sam** asked, biting his lips.

Sam searched through his brain. “Might be anything,” he admitted. “Here, I’ll teach you some tricks.”

 **Dean** later came back to find **Sam** listening to Sam explaining something with intense concentration. “And you have to draw this with blood, otherwise it won’t work.”

“Also, get an anti-possession tattoo before it’s too late.” Sam showed his tattoo on his chest. “Trust me when I say possession is not a fun ride.”

“Geez.” **Dean** took hold of the piece of paper with the Enochian on it, skimming over it, and another paper with the Devil’s Trap drawn on it. “What is all this?”

“Warding,” **Sam** replied. “To help us prepare.”

Just as **Sam** finished speaking, the little closet in the corner flew open with a loud crash without any warnings.

“What the-”

Before any of them could grasp what was going on, Dean’s head and half of his shoulder and right arm appeared from within the closet, filled with dark abyss instead of clothes.

“ _Sammy?_ ” he struggled out, echoing through the room. “Fucking _christ_ -”

“ _Dean_?” Sam stood up and raced to the closet. “What the hell is going on?”

“Sam, _give me your hand-”_ Dean struggled out. “I got this bastard’s gate to open for a little bit, but it’s not for long. _Hurry the fuck up-_ ”

Without further ado, Sam grabbed Dean’s hand and was sucked into the closet with one last glance at their former selves, their expressions of gawking in surprise merely a blur.

* * *

Sam startled awake and instantly shivered at the cold from the concrete floor. He had a terrible headache for some reason, but otherwise nothing seemed broken. He groaned, which anchored a worried Dean to him.

“Hey, man, take it easy,” Dean said, helping Sam up.

“Dean? What the hell happened?” Sam asked, barely able to open his eyes at the splitting headache. “Ugh, where’s Janus?”

“He’s, uh.” Dean grinned. “He left.”

Sam blinked. “He got away?”

“No, nah. He said he regretted his life choices and said he’s going to settle back to sacrificial rams and salt instead of people.”

“What, just like that?” he asked, incredulous. “And you _believed_ him?”

“Dude was a god, man. I’m happy to be alive.” Dean patted Sam on the shoulder, and Sam couldn’t help but agree with the statement. “What about you? You okay?” he asked carefully.

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine.” He pulled out his phone and checked for any changes as he grinded his palm against his temple. Freaking headache.

The contacts were all the same, and still no John.

Dean looked over. “What are you doing?”

Sam shrugged. “I guess our past selves didn’t listen to me,” he said, shoving the withering disappointment down.

Dean shrugged. “It’s us. You think we’d actually listen to anyone?”

Sam snorted. “Go figure.”

Dean squeezed his shoulder once before letting go. “So, are we all good to go?”

Sam frowned with a smile, half confused and half amused because Dean was being ridiculous again. “Dean, there’s only me and you here.”

“Uh huh.” Dean nodded. “I’m asking you. You know. So are we good or what?”

Sam snorted. They started making their way to the exit of the warehouse. “Hey,” he questioned, “How come I passed out but you didn’t?”

Dean scrunched up his face in fake pity. “You always were the frail one, Sammy.”

“Shut up, you jerk.”

Dean stared and the corner of his lips quirked. “Bitch.”

Sam was flooded with relief at the familiarity that was missing for the past few years.

Maybe things hadn’t changed that much after all.

* * *

The only warning they received was a flutter of the wings. Disturbed by the sound, **Sam** tossed in his sleep and hazily looked around the room at the feeling of _wrongness_ he suddenly felt.

John Winchester stood by his foot.

 **Sam** abruptly sat up and stared at the figure wide-eyed. “Dad?”

At the word, **Dean** rolled over with speed, sending the sheets spilling onto the floor. “Dad,” **Dean** breathed.

“Close, but not quite,” John’s voice replied. “Really, **Dean**. Your brother continues to be a nuisance.”

 **Sam** froze. “You’re not dad,” he accused.

The creature possessing John barely turned his head to acknowledge **Sam’s** presence. “No, I’m not your father.”

“Get the fuck out of him, you fucking creep,” **Dean** snarled, not moving from where he was.

“I’m not going to harm your father, **Dean**. I’ve told you this before in the past, though I suppose it was you from the future in the past.” The man hummed. “Time travel is tricky like that.”

“Who are you?” **Sam** asked.

“My name is Michael,” he introduced himself conversationally. “Dean, Sam. I know you have possessed knowledge of events yet to come, and I can’t let you thwart the Plan like that,” he said disapprovingly as if speaking to children.

 **Dean** smiled thinly. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself and get the fuck out of my old man’s body, Michael?”

“Michael, the archangel?” **Sam** gaped. “I thought angels needed _consent,_ ” he spat out in disgust.

“Oh, your father consented,” Michael said easily.

“Why would he-”

“I told him I’d tell him about a weapon that could kill the thing that killed his wife if he helped me for a small something,” Michael replied. “He needs a lead one way or another. Besides, the information on the Colt is a small price to pay you two a visit.”

“Yeah? And why’re you here already?” **Dean** glared. Neither of them have forgotten about the First Seal Dean will break according to Sam. “Aren’t I supposed to sell my soul for **Sam** first, or are you too eager to care?”

“ **Dean**.” Michael tsked. “There would be no point of me to take you now. Lucifer isn’t out and in his respective vessel yet,” he said, eyeing **Sam**. **Sam** almost pulled up the sheets to block himself from the piercing gaze, but he refrained and held strong, instead staring right back at him defiantly.

“Well. I’ll try to make this meeting as quick as I can manage,” Michael smiled, the smile not reaching all the way to his eyes.

“Wha-”

Before either of them understood what was going on, Michael was by both their sides with two fingers tapped against both of their foreheads. They slumped back onto their beds, sound asleep. Michael proceeded to remove all of their memories on Sam, and placed it with fake memories of the rest of their day.

“Stop struggling, John. It’s no use,” Michael said to the man clawing from the inside. “I never lied to you, John. I’ve only… left some parts out. You’ve given consent, so there’s no turning back. Don’t worry,” he added as he flew back to the location John was originally at. “I haven’t harmed your sons and I’ll make sure you’re not a drooling mess after I leave. You’re too important, after all.”

Michael removed all of John’s memories of him as well, and replaced them with some more fake memories of John finding out about the Colt, but not from him. It wasn’t the right time for any of them to know about any of God’s plans.

Satisfied with his work, Michael flew back to Heaven.


End file.
